


Five Ways It Could Have Happened

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Ficlet Collection, First Time, Humor, M/M, Sentinel Thursday Challenge, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways the guys could have gotten together.  </p><p>Written in 2006 for Sentinel Thursday.  Challenge prompt: Five things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Ways It Could Have Happened

 

**Five Ways It Could Have Happened by alyjude**

 

 

**The First Way It Could Have Happened: Jim**

I should tell him.

After all, there's nothing to be afraid of, right? This is Blair, after all. Hell, he'd accept me if I morphed into a squid right before his eyes--and then he'd make sure no one turned me into calamari with aioli sauce.

Sure, I can tell him anything. So there's nothing like the present, right?

::clears throat::

"Hey, Sandburg, how do you feel about inter-species marriage?"

Blair was buried in a book and didn't even bother to lift his head as he answered me.

"I think if a salmon and a grizzly fall for each other, more power to them."

I wait because I know my partner--and more is coming. No way can he leave it alone.

"Of course," he says as he turns the page of the book. "It'll be an upstream battle...."

What did I tell you? I bite back a laugh. I can always count on Sandburg.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a normal American male.  Tall, with dashing good looks--"

"Balding... and just what strange species have you fallen for now? Although, loving outside your species would be a nice change for you. Falling hard for every redheaded criminal that comes along is getting kind of old."

"Sheesh, one redhead, Sandburg. _One_. The others were all brunettes."

"And one blonde," Blair muttered. But then he got back into the ridiculous conversation by asking, "So what species have you fallen for? You were at the zoo the other day with Megan, Rafe and Megan's two nieces--what, did you tumble head over heels for the panda?"

He's such a card. "Not a panda, but I have fallen for a bear so it was kind of funny what with you bringing up grizzlies to begin with."

"So the trip to the zoo worked out for you after all? Cool." He turns another page and keeps reading, clearly not taking the conversation seriously.

But I figure I can fix that.

::clears throat--again::

"Do you know what Connor's nieces call you?"

Blair knuckles back some hair in a gesture that 'does' things to me, and then pushes his sliding glasses back up his nose--another 'do it to me, baby' gesture--as he says sarcastically, "Gosh, maybe... Blair?"

"Nope. They call you their... Blair-bear."

I can see his lips curling up in a smile--so I wait again, this time for the significance of the term to sink in. It doesn't take long.

Blair closes the book and sets it carefully on the table in front of him. He stands up, stretches his arms over his head--thus allowing me to see a nice expanse of stomach, tilts first to the right, then the left--obviously trying to get the kinks out, and finally faces me to ask innocently, "Blair-bear?"

I just grin. And wait. My brilliant roommate--and if I'm lucky, bedmate--will tip to what I'm trying to tell him.  I _know_ he will.

He gives me an eloquent shrug. "You know, a nickname does not an inter-species relationship make," Blair says educationally.

"You're a furry teddy bear, Chief. I'm a sleek, handsome human. Go with it."

Blair scratches his chin--and then smiles brightly. "Okay."

That's my Blair-bear.

*****

**The Second Way It Could Have Happened: Blair**

I can never tell him

Never in a million years. He just couldn't handle it. It would send him over the edge. He already thinks he's too different--a freak. If he finds out I love him, which will clue him into the fact that he loves me, which he does, then he'd have to admit the whole gay thing and that would be one too many freakish personality traits for him to handle. Not that being a sentinel is a personality trait--but all his other traits can most definitely be laid at the feet of his being a sentinel.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Not telling him.

That's not really a good plan. That plan leaves me out in the cold, so to speak, and I really want to be in his bed--it's so much warmer up there, you know? Heat rises and all. But I can never tell him.

I could drop hints. Subtle hints. Let him think it's his idea, allow him to come to the inevitable conclusion on his own so he'll be more accepting. Yeah, I could do that.

All right. Cool. I have a plan.

Subtle hints.

::later that night::

"Sandburg?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"What are you doing?"

"It's called walking from my bedroom to the bathroom in order to take a shower. Hello?"

"You're naked, Sandburg. As the proverbial jay bird."

"Now you know darn well that unless a bird's been de-feathered, he can never be naked."

"But you are. Naked. Totally. Without clothes. Without towel, other than the one draped over your arm, which hides nothing. But arm hair."

I turn to face him. "So I'm without clothes, so what? I'm about to take a shower and one usually does that sans clothing."

Jim blinks. And blinks again.

I turn away and give him the backend view, really hoping my ass is as good as more than a few men and women have mentioned over the years. I really, really hope so.

Jim clears his throat and I grin.

"Sandburg, taking a shower without clothing is a good thing. Parading around the loft in the same manner is not. The blinds and shades are all up. You know that pervert across the street probably has his binoculars out and is getting an eyeful even as we speak."

I face him - again. "Jim," I say with ultra patience. "Walking from one's room to the bathroom is not, in anyone's definition, 'parading around'. And if the pervert across the street is getting off on this eyeful--and really," I glance down at the family jewels and back up, "this is way more than an eyeful. More like a handful. Two handfuls. Simon's hands."

Jim blinks. And blinks again.

He fights valiantly not to look, which was only right considering how valiantly I tried the same thing back on the Cyclops Oil rig last year.

I give Jim my backside again and say, "Besides, the idea that the pervert across the street would even care about viewing my handful is ludicrous. I mean, that would mean he cared about the male anatomy as opposed to the female and, frankly, judging by the way he ogled Mom the last time she was here--I'd say my anatomy is safe."

I manage to get two steps closer to the bathroom before Jim speaks again.

"You know, appreciation of the male--or female--anatomy doesn't have to have anything to do with sexual preference. Lots of straight men thoroughly enjoy Michelangelo's David, you know. For the art of it, of course."

I wait. Breathlessly.

"And then of course, our pervert could have an equal appreciation for both men and women as sexual partners. That's possible. And there you are--giving him a good look."

Time to face him again. "Now, Jim, that's highly unlikely, don't you think? Another bisexual on Prospect? I mean, really, what are the odds?"

I'm not the least bit surprised when Jim blinks--twice.

"Another... bisexual?"

I nod--and blink--innocently. "Okay, shriveling up in the cold here, man, need to take my shower. Talk later."

With what I hope is a sexy saunter that shows off my assets, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door.

Turning on the shower, I ponder the intricacies of subtle. As I step under the steaming hot water, I wonder how subtle French kissing Jim would be.

A cold breeze tells me that the bathroom door has just been opened. I smile. Maybe subtle really works.

"Sandburg, just what did you mean by another bisexual on Prospect? Why couldn't there be a whole passel of 'em?"

I peek out from behind the curtain, my hair dribbling water onto the floor. "Passel? Did you just say... _passel_?"

Rolling his eyes, Jim says, "A whole lot, okay? Why couldn't there be a whole lot of them? Aren't you the one who's always saying that everyone is really bisexual?"

"Why yes I am, Jim. So I guess you're right. There could be a veritable cornucopia of bisexuals on our block."

Looking very firm and, with hands on his hips, Jim says, "So the next time you get the urge to walk naked through the loft, you'll remember that little fact, won't you?"

"Jim, are you implying that if I should walk naked through the loft again, the entire bisexual neighborhood will go out of their way to watch?"

Looking delightfully confused, and very much like a small boy, Jim starts to sputter--and finally gives up, walks out, and slams the door behind him. Smiling, I let the curtain drop back and finish my shower.

Once out, I dry off to a point where I won't drip all over Jim's hardwood floors, throw a towel over my shoulders and walk out and down the hall. Jim's in the kitchen at the range and working an omelet when I pass him--with what I hope is a nice wiggle.

"Sandburg?"

I stop. Turn. "Yes?"

"You're naked again."

"What can I say? I decided to give all the bisexuals on the block a weekend treat. A man with my body should not be selfish."

Jim didn't blink this time--he closed his eyes, but quickly reopens them. "Sandburg, what's going on?"

Feeling the air of success slowly leak out of me, I say, somewhat dejectedly, "I'm being subtle, Jim." With that, I walk into my room and shut the French door behind me.

I no sooner manage to get my boxers on than Jim walks in--without knocking.

"Sandburg, you are not to walk through this loft again--naked. Is that understood?"

Well, color me surprised.

"Are you nuts, Jim? You do it all the time."

"I'm different."

I can feel my left eyebrow rise. "Oh, really?"

Expression one of complete stubbornness, Jim says, "Yes," and then juts his chin out for emphasis.

Feeling rather brave--foolishly so--I step out of my boxers... and wait.

Jim's expression goes from stubborn obstinacy to confusion. Cute confusion.

"Why did you just take off your boxers?"

"I'm going to go out and watch television, that's why. And I'm going to do it naked."

Jim's eyes narrow. "You are not putting that naked butt on my couch."

"Do I live here? Am I your roommate? Do I clean, cook, do laundry--"

"None of which gives you the right to drive me crazy."

"Which I've been doing since I moved in. How is this any different?"

"Oh, for crying out...."

Jim stops and I note, with some satisfaction, that the confusion has cleared.

Three cheers for subtle.

Jim smiles beautifully. "Sandburg, a howitzer has nothing on your ability to be subtle."

"So it worked, then?"

Jim crooks his finger at me. "Come here."

I go.  Happily.

::later::

Wow, Jim's a very subtle lover and not the least bit worried about being a sentinel and gay.

Who knew?

*****

**The Third Way It Could Have Happened: Naomi**

I should tell them

Even if Jim is a cop, I can tell he makes my son happy. I should tell them they're in love.

But if I do, it will change Blair's life forever. And maybe not all in good ways. On the other hand, how could it change any more than it has now if I tell them? He already risks everything for Jim. How can being with him in every way change anything except for the better?

I don't want him hurt, physically or mentally, and Jim has the power to do both. His job could be--and has been--responsible for hurting my Blair physically.   And Jim's a wounded man and could--and has--hurt Blair with his words and actions. How much worse would it be for both of them if they became a couple?

How much worse if they don't?

So I need to find a way....

I slip into my son's room, put on the long, silky green dress and grab the two photo albums I never travel without.  Jim's just gone upstairs to change and if I time this right....

Wine, cheese, crackers and the bait: tongue. Sliced thin and layered with the cheese. White Vermont cheddar. Delivered to Jim just as he finishes dressing.

It only takes a few minutes to put it together and I can hear Jim moving overhead. I'm ready. I balance the tray, holding the food and drink on top of the albums and head upstairs.

"Thought you could use a little something to tide you over until dinner, Jim," I say brightly. "And I brought those albums we talked about earlier." Without waiting for any kind of invitation, I set everything down on the nightstand and immediately make myself comfortable on his bed. Cross-legged, I move my offerings down with me and hold up one goblet. "Join me?"

By the time Blair unlocks the door downstairs, I have Jim lounging beside me and laughing at the delightful photos of my son. He especially loved the one I managed to take when Blair was two and had unilaterally decided against wearing diapers ever again. When I finally gave up trying to catch his little naked self, I took pictures instead. Now I flip the page and there's my junior Richard Nixon.

Which is exactly when Blair walks in downstairs.

"Mom? Jim?"

I smile sweetly as Blair calls us. Offering the platter of food, I say, "More tongue, Jim?"

"I'd love some."

I tap the photo in the top right hand corner. "Okay, now, look, here he is. This was his third grade year and he was playing Richard Nixon and for weeks he ran around saying, 'I am not a crook. I am not a crook."

Blair steps up and into the room and his expression is priceless. There's that protective streak for me, but warring with it is jealousy. I think this is going to work.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demands.

Pouring every ounce of innocence into my voice, I say, "Blair, look! He's eating tongue and he likes it."

"Uh-huh. You hear that?" Jim says.

And that's when I get it. Jim knows exactly what I'm doing. And he's all for it.

Well, I'll be damned.

But Blair's angry as he says, "Oh, yeah, I hear that."

Jim waves a cracker at him. "Come on, dig in."

"Yes, have some, honey," I offer cheerily.

Looking very suspicious, Blair takes a piece of tongue. "Yes, well. Okay, then. But I think I'm gonna need a drink. Give me the wine."

I hand him my glass.

"Great," he says, clearly none too happy with the pretty picture Jim and I are painting in his mind.

But then Jim looks at him and my son, who is no slouch in the clue department if it's handed to him on a platter with some cheese, tongue and crackers cocks his head. At that moment, something passes between them, an understanding; a truth.  Then Jim lifts his glass in salute and says, "Cheers, bottoms up, huh?

Eyes twinkling, and all sign of jealousy gone, my beautiful and smart son says, "Salud."

Jim is suddenly laughing--a free, _wonderful_ laugh--and I know it's time to make myself scarce as he says, "Next we'll have some esophagus."

Personally, I suspect he'll be having more tongue.

*****

**The Fourth Way It Could Have Happened: Costello (a bad guy)**

It was Costello that did it.

Damn it, we're separated. How the hell did that happen? One minute Sandburg was at my back, and the next, he's by the trees and I'm next to the fucking building. And Costello? He's moving toward the trees. Toward the trees. Where my partner is. My unarmed partner.

God damn it.

Where's my backup when I need it? When Sandburg needs it?

Shit, Costello's getting closer and there's no way Blair can see or hear him, but Costello's got a bead on him and I'm too far away to shoot and if I yell--I could spook Costello who, in turn, would blow Sandburg away.

Fuck, fuck, and double fuck. He's got him. Using him.

"Ellison, show yourself or I put Mr. Grunge here out of his misery!"

"Mr. Grunge? What do you mean, 'Mr. Grunge'? This is not grunge, you idiot."

Leave it to Sandburg to argue fashion with a guy who has a gun to his head.

"Ellison, you've got to the count of five--"

"You can't even count that high, you Neanderthal," Blair spits out.

I really shouldn't laugh.

The good news is that Costello is mad enough to forget me for a moment while he tries to contain the guy whom I'm discovering might mean more to me than I thought.

Talk about timing.

Blair's wiggling, giving the guy hell, which is allowing me to make my all-too-slow way around the building so that I can confront Costello. Preferably before he loses patience with his 'Red Chief' and decides hostages are highly overrated.

I'm almost there. So close, I can hear the sweat drip from one curl and drop on Blair's flannel jacket. Unfortunately, Costello and Blair have been trading insults and Costello's anger quotient has risen to the point where he pushes Blair to his knees, wraps a chunk of curly hair around his hand, and puts the barrel of the gun to the back of Blair's head.

I freeze.

My heart is pounding so hard, I figure I'm about to do an impression of John Hurt in Alien. I've been through hell more than a few times, but at this precise moment in time, seeing Blair as I'm seeing him now, it's safe to say that I've never been this scared. He looks so vulnerable--and stubborn and _angry_ \--and completely under Costello's control.

I can hear the sirens now, but they're minutes and a lifetime too far away.

To save Costello.

His arm is flexing, his right eyelid is half shut and sweat is dripping freely.  He's milliseconds from pulling the trigger.

I stop where I am, lift my arm, close one eye, narrow my life and sight and hearing down to this moment, this space: his left eye. Colors, a pulse, a reflection of Blair and I squeeze a hair before Costello.

It's over. He's killed instantly; his body paralyzed. He falls back, but his fingers are still wrapped around Blair's hair so my partner is pulled down and back with him. He yelps at the pain and I move faster than I can ever remember. I'm on my knees next to him even as police cars converge on the meth lab. I can hear Simon yelling and Joel telling him to go to his left, that it looks like Blair is down.

And he is, but he's not out. No, not Blair. He's cussing a blue streak as I try to untangle his hair from a dead man's grasp and suddenly I'm laughing and he's still cursing and Simon's there and I can only imagine what we must look like. But I really don't care. Blair's alive-- _very_ alive--and he's mine. That seems suddenly very important to me.  Possessive, sure, but important too. Vitally so.

Blair is finally free and he scoots away from the body.  That's all it is now, a body, and then he looks at me and the curses stop and he's quiet. Simon bends at the knees in front of him and says, "Sandburg, you okay?"

Eyes still fixed on me, he nods. "Not my blood, Simon. Not mine."

Simon looks at each of us in turn, nods to himself, and stands. "Jim, IA will be all over you on this one, but from what I can see, it was a justified shooting. Explaining it, of course, will be a neat trick." He looks over at Blair again and says, "Get our civilian home--I'll cover you. But my office tomorrow morning.  Eight sharp."

"Yes, sir," I say as I get to my feet and stick out a hand for Blair.

Simon walks away.  And Blair stares at my hand. Finally, after what seems an eternity, he takes it and I haul him upright. We stand together, close, but not touching now, and he says, "Nice shot."

"Yep."

"Close call," he adds.

"Yep."

He smiles. "You have a very unique way of saying, 'I love you, Sandburg.'"

I grin. "Yep."

"We should probably stick to the more... common ways, in the future."

"Okay," I say. I'm easy. Besides, he's right. I don't want too many more moments like the one we just survived.

I take his arm and we head for the truck... and home.

*****

**The Fifth Way It Could Have Happened _and probably did_ : Simon**

These two have got to turn their energies to something else. Something that's probably illegal in several states.

"Damn it, Sandburg, would you shut up, already?"

"I'm just saying, Jim, that Piper has a thing for you but you can't trust her."

"You think everything in a skirt has a thing for me, Sandburg--"

"No," Blair says, anger coloring his tone. "Just the criminally inclined skirts, or haven't you noticed the trend?"

"You know, I'm sick and tired of the whole 'Jim falls for criminals' thing, Sandburg. Where do you get off spouting that crap anyway?"

"Gee, I don't know, shall I count them up, Jim? Shall I? How 'bout Laura? Veronica? Lila, Alex--"

I watch as Jim's face is suffused with anger and think maybe I'd better stop this now because he's advancing on Sandburg and the fact is Jim could turn the kid to dust in about thirty seconds flat. On the other hand, Sandburg's always given as good as he got....

"What, you want to hit me for telling the truth, Jim? Huh? Do you? Go ahead, you asshole. Right here." He tilts his chin up and points to it. "Go ahead, hit me."

"Don't think I won't, Sandburg. Don't think for one _minute_ that I won't."

And sure enough, he's curling his fingers into a fist and if I don't do something right now....

"For God's sake, gentlemen, get a fucking room."

"You're sadly mist--"

Jim stops cold. He cocks his head to the right as Blair does the same but to his left. Then they turn and stare at me. I stare back. I'm bigger and I'm older and I have a son. Staring contests are nothing to me. I win every time.

Jim breaks first and blushes clear up to the roots of his fast-receding hairline. Blair starts clearing his throat and making hacking sounds as he turns away from me and Jim, clearly embarrassed.

"Come on, Chief, let's go home," Jim finally says, his voice low and gentle.

Blair doesn't say anything, just opens my office door. He starts out, Jim right behind him, but at the last minute, Blair stops, forcing Jim to back up. Clearing his throat, Blair says, without looking at me, "Uhm, thanks, Simon. Thanks."

When the door finally shuts behind them, I walk over to the window and, through the slats, watch them. Jim gets their jackets, holds Blair's out to him, and when Blair takes it and starts for the elevator, Jim drapes an arm over his shoulders. I think Blair stiffened--but only for a moment--before relaxing.

I know Jim can hear me when I say, "Get this one right, Ellison."

I have proof when, at the last minute, he looks over his shoulder and grins at me.

The End

 

  
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